


I'm not Really a Jewelry Person...

by aprofessorbhaer



Category: Fran Bow (Video Game)
Genre: Coming Out, Denial, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Jewelry, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Necklaces, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Original Character(s), Parent-Child Relationship, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Presents, Queer Character, Queer Gen, Queer Themes, Queer Youth, Reader-Insert, Trans, Trans Character, Transgender, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 06:17:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10870836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aprofessorbhaer/pseuds/aprofessorbhaer
Summary: Reader/oc needs comfort after an incident with their mother. Itward delivers.





	I'm not Really a Jewelry Person...

**Author's Note:**

> Mother's Day is coming up, so I'm constantly thinking about my relationship with my mom, and how my coming out to her has affected it. This was the result.

I was sitting on my bed, contemplating a necklace my mother had just given me, when he arrived.

“Hello, my dear! How are you doing?” 

I nearly dropped the piece of jewelry with a squeak of surprise, spinning around to face my window. Outside was a tall skeleton in a black suit and top hat. “Itward! What are you doing here!?” I quickly opened my window so he could come inside.

Itward slid through the opening, his long limbs struggling to fit in my small bedroom. “Is that any way to talk to your childhood best friend? Now, really! I’m offended!” He clutched at his heart dramatically.

I smiled softly. “Sorry, Itward. I just didn’t expect to see you again. You told me that your job is to look after children…and I’m not a child anymore.”

Itward shook his head sadly as he tried to fold himself up to fit on my bed. “My dear, no matter your age, you are still my friend. Am I still your friend?” He actually looked anxious about my answer.

“Yes, of course! You’ll always be my friend, Itward. You’re the reason I’m still here.” I looked down at my lap, sorry to bring up such a heavy subject.

“Now, dear, that’s not true: YOU’RE the reason you’re still here. I was simply a helper.” He shifted to get more comfortable before continuing. “My friend, I’m afraid I’m not here simply for a visit. I came because you are…struggling right now, and I want to help, if I can. Will you tell me what’s wrong, love?”

I continued to avoid his kind yellow eyes, not sure how to explain the silly reason I was currently so upset. Eventually, I held up the necklace for him to see. He took it delicately in his fingers, cradling it with the gentleness I could always expect from him. It was a simple design, just a silver textured ring on a chain. “That’s a present from my mom. She, uh, sent it to me while I was away from home. When I asked her if it meant anything specific, she said the circle represents eternity.” I took a deep breath to keep my voice from shaking. I wasn’t entirely successful. “As my mom, I’m sure she meant that her love for me is eternal, y’know, something like that. But all I can think, when I look at it, is…” I broke off, unable to continue.

I stood up because the next thing I would say could change everything, and I couldn’t be next to Itward when he decided to leave. I swallowed. “I don’t know if you’re up to speed on what’s going on with me, but a lot has happened since you saw me last. At least, according to everyone else. To me, I’m the same person I’ve always been. But anyway.

“I’m transgender, Itward. I’m not…I’m not who you think I am. I’m not a girl. And…and all I can think when I look at that necklace, that symbol of eternity….is how my mother told me, after I came out to her…that I’ll always be her daughter.” I looked out my window, unable to face Itward after my confession.

“She thought she was being…supportive when she said it. She thought that it would convey that she still loves me, that I’m still the same person to her. But all it told me was…she doesn’t see me as I am, Itward. And how can you love someone if you don’t see them? Is that really love, if there are…conditions?”

I gripped the windowsill for something to hold on to. “She thinks…I’ll grow out of it. She thinks that I’m young and confused and I’ll realize after more years of life experience that I was wrong. She thinks I can be cured, Itward! She thinks this is a mental illness that will eventually go away (hopefully).”

I looked down at my knuckles, white with tension. “That particular idea…I wonder if it has any merit, sometimes. I think about….is that why you befriended me? Because I’m trans?”

A shadow fell on me as Itward approached. “My dear child, let me allay some of your fears. First of all: being transgender is NOT a mental illness. My purview is not as narrow as you may think: I am a protector of mentally ill children, but also children who are thought to be mentally ill. I cannot tell you why specifically I was drawn to know you—I do not possess powers of diagnosis—but let me assure you it is NOT for the reason your mother might think.

“As for her love for you…I cannot say. I understand why you feel the way you do, because acceptance ought to be a part of any mature love (in my opinion). All I can tell you is—”

“Please don’t say she needs more time, Itward.” I squeezed my eyes shut against the words. “That’s all I ever hear. Whenever I tell someone how I feel about the way my mother reacted, which I do rarely, people always tell me to ‘give her time’.” I wrapped my arms around myself, needing to feel protected. “How much time am I supposed to give her? Until I die? Will she believe me then? Or will she just say I passed before I realized my mistake, poor girl.

“Why does it even matter, Itward? Why does it matter to my mother that I’m a girl or not? Why…why can’t she just…love me for me, and not who she thinks I am? Or who I should be?” My voice broke at the end, and Itward turned me around to lay my head on his chest, allowing me to cry freely.

I kept talking into his suit jacket. “Why am I suddenly not good enough, Itward? I’m still ME. Was I ever good enough? Why can’t…why can’t my mom just trust me to know who I am? Or at least trust me to figure it out?”

Itward held me close with strong but gentle arms, stroking my hair in comfort. “Love, you are, have been and always will be good enough. If someone does not see that, including a family member, then that is their problem and they don’t know you as well as they think. I know you, and I can tell you honestly that my love has not decreased because of what you have told me. If anything, I only love you more because of the strength you possess in order to be truly yourself, and share that with the world.”

I held onto Itward’s lapels as he scooped me up to lay us both down on my bed. “She thinks this is a new thing for me, but…I think I’ve always been this way, Itward. I just didn’t know that I was allowed to be. I didn’t have the language to express it. And now I do, and I’m so excited, and I wanna share it with her…but I can’t because talking about the queer community makes her uncomfortable. I make her uncomfortable. What am I supposed to do?” I looked up into his yellow eyes for the first time, searching for an answer.

Itward settled with my head on his shoulder so he could keep holding me. “My dear, I don’t pretend to know all the answers, or even the best ones. But I believe, for right now, the best course of action is taking a nap. I can tell you’re drained from your confession to me, and you obviously have a great deal weighing you down. Let’s put it aside for an hour or two, eh?” He reached out with a long arm to turn off my bedside lamp, the only light besides the window.

I thought about protesting, but decided against. Itward was right, I WAS tired. Maybe some rest would do me good. As I closed my eyes and snuggled closer to his chest, I wondered briefly where he’d put the necklace from my mom. However, I was asleep before I could ask him about it.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is dedicated to anyone who is not looking forward to Mother's Day, thanks to a strained relationship with their mom. Y'all are not alone.


End file.
